


women who inspire

by dexwebster



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dom/sub, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Face-Sitting, Femdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3519896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dexwebster/pseuds/dexwebster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"I don't understand," said Cole. "Service. . .it's where his heart lives. It's the only light in all the darkest corners of his past, what kept him from falling into blackness when the demons came for him. Milady, how is he ashamed of something that burns so bright?"</em>
</p><p>Cullen is happy being submissive until he realizes he's submissive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	women who inspire

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Baudelaire: _"There are women who inspire you with the desire to conquer them and to take your pleasure of them; but this one fills you only with the desire to die slowly beneath her gaze."_ It was late when I posted to the meme, okay?

"Inquisitor Trevelyan," the farmer said, "you must consider—"

"I," Evelyn said, and hesitated, her attention stolen entirely by Cullen standing just outside of the side door that led to the War Room, "have considered it, and the Inquisition's position remains unchanged. You cannot lay claim to your neighbor's calf just because. . ."

"Daisy, Inquisitor," Josephine supplied.

"Just because _Daisy_ —thank you, Ambassador—went through a broken fence and gave birth on your property. Now if that will be all," she said, merely a formality, as she stood and headed for the side door without waiting for an answer. "Commander, may I speak with you for a moment?"

He followed her down the hall past Josephine's desk to the invitingly empty war room. Cullen made to shut the door behind them. 

"Leave it," she said. "Best to avoid too much temptation." She leaned in to give him a fleeting kiss. "Weren't you a pleasant surprise to see in the Hall."

"I'd only just heard you were leaving," said Cullen. "It was the only way to catch you if I wanted to say goodbye before you head off." 

"Sad but true. Tomorrow night?" she said. "My chambers?"

"Count on it," he said, and they parted with one more quick kiss.  
It was well after dark when the company approached the gates at Skyhold.

They were greeted just inside by Cullen emerging from his quarters next to the gatehouse and Leliana appearing like a ghost out of the shadows.

"Inquisitor," said Cullen with a curt nod. "I trust the mission went well."

"Swamps," she said, "are _exhausting_."

"More than settling livestock disputes?" said Leliana.

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Ask me again when I've heard a few more. And when I've slept. Don't look at me like that, Leliana. Reports in the morning, I promise."

She perhaps in fact sleepwalked all the way to her rooms, and collapsed on the divan, a blissfully undignified experience after a day as the blessed Herald. She was still sitting there like a lumpy sack of potatoes when Cullen rapped his knuckles on the railing to announce his presence, clad in only the heavy tunic and trousers he wore under his armor. 

"Oh, you are a sight for sore eyes," Evelyn sighed. 

"You saw me not ten minutes ago."

"Yes," she said, "but now I get to _look_." It was amazing what a smile and bit of firelight gleaming on his hair could do for her mood. 

Cullen rested a hand on the back of the sofa as he bent to give her a kiss. "I would go out with you more often if I could."

"Much as I'd love to have you out there, you being _here_ is the reason the Inquisition doesn't fall apart. Although I can't say I'd mind you bearing the brunt of the work for the moment. I really am exhausted."

"Now that I can do." He scooped her up bodily from her seat, the hand supporting her back joined by one holding the crook of her knees.

She clung to his neck as he carried her away. Giddy laughter bubbled up from somewhere she'd have sworn was already asleep, ceasing only when he'd laid her out on the bed. "You know, tired doesn't mean I couldn't walk."

"But why bother when I'm here to do all the work for you?" Tender hands carefully removed her boots and breeches and unbuttoned her jerkin and shirt. He slid his hand into the open gape, smoothing them away from her ribs, and Evelyn sighed and stretched like a cat in the sunshine rippling them off of her shoulders together.

"Roll over?" Cullen said.

She did, though she was puzzled at first. 

"Warm enough?"

She'd been so tired when she'd trudged up the steps that she'd only basked in the familiar welcoming glow of her own hearth, and hadn't given it a second thought. She frowned suspiciously into her pillow. "Did you send someone up to start a fire?" 

"When the outer gate spotted you," Cullen said. Then the bed dipped and the heat of his bare skin pressed all along her length—he'd stripped before he lay down—and he began smoothing his hand up and down her back.

"Oh, it's a good thing you're not out of Skyhold more often," she said, obscured by the pillow, "I get too used to this kind of work and I might never get anything done." 

His only answer was a quiet chuckle, and the room fell into comfortable silence but for the occasional hiss and pop from the fireplace. He drifted lower with each sweep of his hand, over her fullest curves and down each of her legs. Her heart quickened, and her breath. He coaxed her from silence into quiet groans with countless passes, and still his hand followed its careful paths, almost chaste but for the places he skirted on his way. 

Evelyn's hips rose to meet his touch, her pulse rising within her just the same. She groped out blindly and caught his chin with two fingers, and though she barely had the wherewithal to lift her head worked across his shoulder in lazy kisses until she finally caught his mouth in the middle. 

Her thighs eased apart almost of their own accord and Cullen, so very attentive, read their invitation like it was written on parchment. He slid his hand down between her legs, first to cup the whole of her sex and then to slip between and tease the lips of her cunt apart with gentle pressure. It was a dozen passes, more, narrowed down to that palm's breadth, slicking wetness around and between, and then no more than the vital inch just below. He threw his leg over hers to anchor her and it was perfect, the two of them tangled together as they kissed. He was _perfect_ , the way he'd lifted her out of her frustrated exhaustion to these heights, with no care of his own for the hardness pressed against her hip.

Her cunt was aching, greedy, but there was only the hug of his palm and the inexorable rhythm of his fingers on her clit building in coilspring tension in her thighs. She felt beautifully wanton arching into his hand as she came, and better as she caught her breath. _Luxuriant_. Cullen patiently rubbed the small of her back even though she could feel the insistent nudge of his erection. 

She lifted her knee to slot their legs more fully so there could be no mistaking her meaning. "What are you waiting for?"

"I don't need—"

"You are the Maker's very blessing for how good that felt, but so help me, Cullen, you fuck me this instant or I'll make airing Josephine's bloomers look like child's play compared to what will happen to your smallclothes."

Cullen gave a bark of surprised laughter. "A grave threat, indeed." He surged forward to kiss her, rolling them over.  
Evelyn folded her leg around his hip as she pulled him right where she wanted him atop her.

Right where he belonged.  


* * *

The council meeting had been dreadfully long, and even more frustrating. There'd been no consensus from the others on how to proceed, and while the decision to send some of Leliana contacts out into the shadows was ultimately Evelyn's, it weighed heavily. 

Cullen followed her to chambers after Leliana and Josephine had sleepily waved goodnight. 

Undressing was pleasantly routine, the sort of the thing they'd done together enough that there was a rhythm to the way they moved around each other, to the way he stepped up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist when they were both of free of their armor. 

"I know how the mission went," he said—he should, as long as they spent hashing it out in the War Room. "How are you?"

"Annoyed," she said, and took a deep breath. He didn't deserve her taking out her dissatisfaction on him when he was the one bright light in the midst of it. "Talk to me about anything else."

He kissed the crook of her neck, and his voice was warm and wry. "Are you sure talking's what you're after?" 

"Why, Cullen," she said as she turned in his arms, "you sound as though you have something else in mind."

"Whatever you like," he said.

"I suppose I can think of something better to do with your mouth." 

She found herself leaning into him, and Cullen spread his feet and stood firm, a solid presence for her to push against. He was always ready to meet her intensity, whether it was an easy night of sleepy touching or. . . this, whatever this feeling crawling under her skin was.

Their kisses turned heated quickly, and oh, Evelyn was certainly thinking of other things his mouth could be doing. She hastily undid the top buttons of her shirt, just enough to pull it over her head still half-fastened, and the same with her trousers. Cullen's hands dipped towards the lacing on his own, and too quickly she had pushed his hands aside with a smile.

"You can wait until I'm finished if you're so concerned with what I like." Her only intent was to tease, but Cullen sagged as though he'd been hit bodily by the words, eyelashes fluttering slightly, kiss-red mouth gone slack. She pushed him down on his back on the bed and climbed right up him. She paused with her knees almost at his shoulders, stroking her thumb over his plush lower lip. 

"I'm not going to break." Cullen had that same reckless look he'd got when he flung everything from the top of his desk. He wrapped his arms around from behind her thighs. She slid forward, holding onto the headboard, and she hovered there watching as he strained towards her.

"Oh, look at you," she said, stroking his hair. That eagerness was the seat of the awkwardness he was sometimes teased for—his natural enthusiasm tempered behind too much military reserve—and he had begun to lose some of that, here with her. 

If there was any sound sweeter than his grateful moan muffled under her cunt when she closed that torturous gap, she'd never heard it. 

She attempted at first to maintain some restraint, and let him kiss and lick as it suited him, but it was too easy to let loose her aggravation as he'd encouraged her. He'd always been generous and enthusiastic in pleasuring her even in their first fumbling days together. Never like this. Like this he had no choice but to follow, to endure when she ground her hips down, abandoned when she lifted to her knees. He whined pitifully at the loss, arms tight on her thighs as if he could pull her back. 

Every roll of her hips was another bit of that frustrated tide ebbing, another of a different one rising within her. Arousal tightened low in her belly, quivered in her thighs. She never took her hand out of Cullen's hair, only gripped tighter, with callous disregard for his comfort. She was so close. Cullen only moaned again, worked in earnest and caressed her thighs. His unchecked desire spurred her on, and it was the thought that he gladly suffered for her that twisted the knot tighter and tighter until she buckled, crying out in the climax it wrung out of her.

Her legs shook too much to maintain her place, and she sank woozily to the bed beside Cullen's head. He lolled, exhausted, until she reached out to stroke his hair, and then he turned towards her hand like something growing towards the sun, a keen reminder that his patience belied the obscene strain of his trousers. 

She was not gentle undressing him, forcing his clothing down into an obscene bunch around his thighs, just enough to get her hand on him, and Cullen grabbed the bedding in two desperate fistfuls. 

"Oh, _Maker_." 

She was a benevolent dictator rewarding a loyal subject, but a dictator nonetheless, no less forceful in giving him pleasure than she had been in taking her own. He had no hope of lasting, and made no attempt. His cries were loud, his hands twisted so tight she feared he'd rend the sheets. He had moaned, he had hurt, and somehow sating her own need had not be enough. She wanted this too, to see him utterly undone, and there was a vulgar thrill of satisfaction in her as he came all over himself under her hand. 

She fetched a cloth from the wash basin to clean him a little. She could envision the loving description from one of Cassandra's beloved smutty books, the kind that put the steamy bits of Varric's romances to shame: his tousled hair, the flushed skin and heaving chest covered in the evidence of their passion, the touch-hungry aftermath when she slid into bed and wrapped herself around him. 

He said, dazedly, "Thank you, milady," then instantly shrank away as he attempted to pull himself from her arms. "Forgive me, that was. . ."

"Nothing that requires forgiveness." She held his elbow so he couldn't, and watched him curiously, but Cullen had already ducked his head.

As much as she wanted to press him, with all of the frustration burnt out of her on Cullen's willing body all that remained was the exhaustion it had masked. 

He didn't try to untangle himself again, and that would have to be enough until she could keep awake long enough to ask. It seemed the downside of reaching such great heights was the necessary fall back to earth.

She'd reached a comfortable equilibrium by morning, still buoyed but at least feeling like she could keep her feet on the ground. It left her quiet, almost serene. Cullen was likewise, She leaned her cheek against his bare shoulder. "Thank you," she said. "Last night was exactly what I needed."

"I'm glad," said Cullen. 

They rose with only a few hushed words to dress, and to part with a kiss at the top of the stairs, and Evelyn started her day feeling lighter than she had in weeks.  
It was another morning of judgement, the way it usually was when she'd been away (thankfully without the cows this time), and then off to check in with Leliana in the rookery.

As much as it pained her, subterfuge was their only recourse when diplomacy and strength failed, and familiar irritation threatened the edges of the early morning's peace she'd shared with Cullen. 

She spent so long trying so hard to bring about order over things that weren't in her control, and even though she scarcely saw the man himself all day, his steadfast devotion was a balm.  


* * *

"Is the commander still in?" she asked the gatehouse guard the next morning, though she was already on her way up the stone stairway. 

Cullen's first order of business most mornings was to collect a strong coffee and something to eat and sift through any overnight dispatches and intelligence reports. 

"Hello, you," she said as she let herself into his office. She stood beside him and played with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I missed you last night."

"Sorry," said Cullen as he frowned at his reading. "By the time I'd realized the hour I assumed you'd already be asleep. It would've been selfish to wake you."

She swiped what looked to be an apricot from his plate of brown bread, cheese and dried fruit. "It would've been worth it." 

He smiled a little, but didn't look up. "Easy to say that now when you're well-rested." 

Evelyn sighed fondly and dropped her hand. 

It was impossible to fault him for it. She of all people knew how easy it was to lose yourself in your work when there was always more of it to be done, and would've been hypocritical besides when she herself went out to the main steps that same night well after most of the castle had gone dark. 

Thankfully, dim light still seeped out through the arrow loops in Cullen's tower. Awake then, or nodded off with a candle still lit; both worth pursuing. 

Awake by inches as it turned out when she made it up to his room, in bare feet and wearing unlaced trousers and a loose shirt with the neck askew on his shoulder, as if they'd been thrown on haphazardly. 

"Evelyn!"

"You were expecting someone else, dressed like that?" she said as she stepped off the ladder.

"I wasn't expecting anyone," he said quickly. "I—the door startled me." 

"I know," she said, moving in to hug him, "it's late. I'm sorry." His arms came around her, unbidden but welcome, warm and firm even through her tunic. She leaned her head against him and enjoyed it a moment longer. "You know, getting to spend time with you was one thing I thought would improve once Corypheus had fallen," she said as she pulled him to bed. "But at least now I don't worry so much about whether we'll get another chance."  


She woke to the frantic wordless murmurs Cullen in the throes of a nightmare. He was still wracked by them months later, and she wondered sometimes if she'd made the right choice, encouraging him to leave lyrium behind. She shook his shoulder lightly—better, they'd found, to cut them off at the pass—and he woke with a gasp, wide-eyed. 

"Shh, it's me, it's me," she said quickly. She pulled him to her, stroked his hair while he pressed his face against her shoulder and took huge breaths, and then quieter, slower. And then as quickly as it had started, he sat up, swinging his feet out of bed to face the far wall.

"I'm sorry to have woken you."

"I've told you, it's not a problem." She pulled at his shoulder to attempt to turn him towards her, but he held fast. In the past, it had been no matter. She'd always done what she could to help and, minus some token grumbling about not inconveniencing her, he'd always allowed it.

"It's almost dawn. Might as well get up now." Beyond him the window showed the sky lightening to rich blue.

Evelyn stood and pulled on the green dressing gown that was folded over the foot of the bed. She'd complained of the cold in Cullen's drafty tower until it was more habit than complaint, and the silken robe had appeared without comment when she'd climbed into the loft one night, his only explanation that it must have been magic.

"You're hurting," she said. "Why don't you rest a while a longer, at least."   

"If that was a good excuse for idleness I'd never get anything done," said Cullen as he pulled on his shirt. His breath quickened but stayed even, careful and controlled; he was so used to being in pain it made her heart ache.

Though smooth economy and years of practice robbed any appearance of haste, before she could fully gather her thoughts Evelyn had watched her Cullen disappear under the pauldrons and mantle that sat on the Commander of the Inquisition like a yoke.

"You called me milady," she said suddenly, before he could vanish altogether. "The last time you came to my rooms. Why?" 

"I wanted." Cullen stopped as if frozen in time, but for the deep breath he took in, enough to lift his whole breastplate. "Deference felt appropriate," he said, tugging a vambrace roughly up his arm. "'Inquisitor' did not. It was a slip of the tongue. I assure you it won't happen again."

"Believe me, that's not necessary on my account."

"You have enough burdens. My weakness isn't one you need to share."

"What weakness?"

"A man should be able to stand on his own." Cullen pulled on one leather glove, and the other. "It's pathetic."

"You are no such thing and I will not entertain the sentiment in my presence," she said sharply.

Cullen's jaw pinched up tight. "Will that be all, Herald?"

"Would it matter?"

She regretted the rebuke immediately, to say nothing of the pettiness, but only hugged the gown tighter around her as Cullen descended the tower ladder.

Evelyn dressed herself numbly, and climbed down to the empty office. Through the window the gatehouse watch changed with the sunrise, and she leaned on the edge of Cullen's desk a few moments until they'd settled and the night watch had gone before she left.

Too many prying eyes brought prying questions, and she couldn't even answer her own right now, let alone someone else's.  


Cullen had not returned to his office when she stopped by to ask the gatehouse guards if they'd seen him, some time mid-morning. No doubt he found some other nook to do his reading in, lest he return to find her waiting. Sadly she had too much of her own work to do to spend the day tracking a wayward lover, and could hardly spare another thought for it until after midday, when Cassandra approached her and asked her to walk along the battlements. 

"Inquisitor, I apologize if I phrase this indelicately, but I was wondering if you might know of anything troubling Cullen? He has seemed rather out of sorts the past few days, and particularly so this morning."

"Don't you think it would be best to ask him this?"

"I have already spoken with him. He insisted it was unrelated to the symptoms of lyrium withdrawal and was therefore none of my concern. I thought you might know more given the. . .nature of your relationship."

"A little," Evelyn admitted. "Not enough that I'm comfortable discussing it, except to say I don't think it's related to the lyrium. For the moment, I think it's best we trust his judgement." She said it less because she believed it and more because she was unsure of what to say without revealing both what she didn't entirely understand, and what Cullen would no doubt be loath to have divulged. 

Cassandra looked like she'd eaten something sour. "I trust the commander's judgement regarding every matter except himself."

Evelyn's mouth twisted; it was a fair assessment. "Be that as may, in this case I don't think there's anything you can do." Had it been anyone but Cassandra, she might have hugged her. For her to approach Evelyn like this at all was a sign of real concern. "Thank you," she added. "For asking."

When Cassandra had gone, Evelyn leaned against the stone wall of the battlements and felt queasy. Down in the training yard Cullen strode up and down the lines of soldiers standing at attention. It was the first she'd seen of him since he disappeared down the ladder in his tower. 

_Might know more_. Might be ignorant and careless was more like it. The morning's harsh words were only the last of it, according to Cassandra, and she'd been so lost in her own pleasure she'd noticed nothing, hardly even his absence. What kind of appreciation was that, when he had given so wholly of himself? 

A pleasant feeling washed over her like a cool breeze, though it was already brisk at this height. From behind her she heard another familiar voice. 

"First kiss, and many since. How many more if she knows what I am?"

"Hello, Cole," Evelyn sighed. "Am I that obvious?"

"He is," said Cole. "He knows pride can drown shame like water, only he doesn't know how, and he keeps asking even though he knows no one can hear. But the fur is a ruse. He prickles like a hedgehog when someone reaches to help. Not just Cassandra. Me, Varric, Dorian."

Cole leaned against the wall beside her, and they watched the drills for a long quiet moment.

"I don't understand," said Cole. "Service. . .it's where his heart lives. It's the only light in all the darkest corners of his past, what kept him from falling into blackness when the demons came for him. Milady, how is he ashamed of something that burns so bright?"

Evelyn leaned her head forward on her clasped hands. Of all the things to pluck out of Cullen's head. "It's complicated, Cole."

"Everyone says that about everything," said Cole, a little petulant. 

She put her arm around Cole's shoulders. He sounded more like a real person all the time; she was never quite sure whether to mourn or welcome him. "With good reason, sadly." 

But if Cullen didn't know how to be proud, maybe she could show him the way. 

She didn't dare risk going down to talk him herself. Surely he'd somehow vanish in a wisp of smoke before she could make it to the training grounds. Instead, she went to her room, and then to the garden. 

The passel of older children who usually played there were eager to help but too young to serve officially, and made for surprisingly efficient messengers. They were faster and quieter than an armed guard and just as reliable; anyone inclined to dally was held in check by the threat of their friends' teasing when they no longer got to join the fun. 

Marjorie, a tiny blonde slip of a thing, was happy as always to see that Commander Cullen got her note and wait for an answer.  


* * *

Cullen did come to her that night, as he'd promised via Marjorie's carefully delivered reply.

No—that was wrong. 

The commander of the Inquisition came to her quarters prepared to receive the dressing-down of his life with as much dignity as he could muster. He was still in full regalia, down to those damnable pauldrons and cloak, and stood at parade rest in front of her where she was tucked into the corner of the sofa reading. 

"You wanted to speak with me?" 

"Yes," Evelyn said, setting her book aside to stand. "Sorry about siccing Marjorie on you. It seemed like the only way given how thoroughly you've been avoiding me. I wanted to apologize." 

"I'm the one who should be apologizing," said Cullen. Silhouetted against the firelight his face was heavily shadowed, hard to see even in the dim glow of the candle she'd been reading by. "I've been rather abominable to you. I've told myself I was trying to collect my thoughts, but I suppose it was only delaying the inevitable. Please know that no matter what you decide, I will accept it. If you would prefer to name someone else as commander, I recommend Cassandra if she's amenable. Now that there's no threat of her becoming Divine—"

"Collecting your—have you been _rehearsing_ that? You thought it was _inevitable_ that I would spurn you?" She crossed the few steps between them and pulled him down. "You will not be removed as commander, or as anything else. I love you. Nothing's going to change that." She kissed him hard. Cullen sighed softly, and his arms came around her too easily to be calculated. She was glad for that much, that it was still his instinct to touch and to hold, still relief he found in her arms. 

Evelyn reached for the buckles on his gorget and he folded his hand tight over hers. "Please," she said. "Despite the way it might have felt this morning we're not actually going into battle against each other." 

When Cullen pulled her hand away she let go, with a heavy heart but without a word of complaint. The claim of them being on a level was a fiction she no longer had the patience for, but he was still the agent of his own life, it must still be his choice to stand a step below hers.

Then Cullen felt for the buckle himself and her heart leapt into her throat. 

He draped the cloak over the back of the sofa, and went on removing and piling his armor neatly on the cushion piece by piece, dropping to each knee to unfasten his poleyns and unlace his boots. 

Handsome as he was, it wasn't physical attraction that left her breathless watching him—she'd seen him in much less than a shirt and trousers, and in the tavern no less. Nor was it pride, a thing to share with the world. It was a confused, tender sort of selfishness, wanting both to guard his vulnerability and to keep it for her own. 

Armor or not he was a soldier through and through, and when he finished he drew himself up, bare hands clasped, chin high, standing near the side of the bed.

Maker, he was lovely. 

"Thank you," said Evelyn. 

Cullen's frown etched deep in the flickering shadows across his face. 

"Does it surprise you that much? I haven't been shy about getting just as much out of this as you do. When you called me that, the way you were that night. It was wonderful," she said. "So much that I failed to see how unhappy you were, and I'm sorry for that."

"I was a coward," said Cullen. "It's not your fault I couldn't face what I'd." His breath shuddered out of him, and he sank down onto the edge of the bed, resting his forearms on his knees. He never could hold a bluff for long. Evelyn lifted one of his hands between them to make room to stand between his legs.

"Sometimes, in my dreams," he said, "when I'm back in that tower. The visions are perversion, always. Twisted mirrors of real desires. Of late they've—well, I'm sure you can guess what temptations they've been offering. From time to time I've wondered if they broke me after all, all those years ago, and now I'm too weak to stand on my own and must beg for a new leash to replace the Templars'." 

It was worse than hearing him call himself pathetic: less angry, but so very wounded. As Inquisitor, Evelyn had tried her hardest to see the story behind every side of the conflicts they were involved in, including understanding the Templars' fears. Right then she could only be glad that fucking Order was all but dead.

The veins in his wrist were pale blue and pronounced in the well-developed muscle, and she rubbed her thumb across one. "When was the last time someone else touched you here?"

"I—can't quite recall," said Cullen. He was staring at where her thumb swept back and forth across his skin. Her fingers barely circled his thick wrist. "It would've been a long time ago."

She let his wrist go and trailed her fingers up his arm, across his collarbone, across the column of his throat. "And here?"

"Why are you asking me this?" His voice shook.

"I have no desire to see you leashed, Cullen. Keeping something locked up doesn't make it yours. Take the chains away and it's as wild as ever." She took his face in both hands and turned him up. "But something wild doesn't come to heel for just anyone. Having a creature like that willing to bend for you and no one else, it's a compliment, isn't it. Like having a weapon no one else can wield. Makes you feel like you're worth something."

"What you draw out of me is. . ." Cullen folded his hands over hers. Her hands looked so small hidden under his. It was an oddly pleasurable thought. She _could_ be small and soft here, and the lack wouldn't touch her. This power didn't come from brute strength or magic, or even Andraste's will. "You make it sound so admirable."

"To me it is. But none of that matters if it's not what you really want."

Cullen slumped against her, hugging the backs of her legs. "It _is_ what I want, whether I think I should or not." 

"If you like we can go to sleep just as we are." The threat of hurting him with something that raw sitting on the surface seemed so great; you don't spar with someone with an open wound for a reason. 

"No," he said firmly. "I won't—it won't go away because I ignore it, and it won't get any easier. And I've missed you." He dragged his hands up the back of her legs with unmistakeable intent and gently squeezed the crease at the tops of her thighs.

"All right, all right," she laughed, pushing his hands away, but couldn't have been more pleased at the playfulness, or more besotted: his resolve to meet even his deepest fears head on never ceased to amaze her. She plucked at the shoulder of his shirt. "Take them off. Everything."

Cullen shimmied out of his clothes, adorably awkward sitting on the bed, and when he was bare to her he lay on his back without prompting, precious thing that he was. "What can I do?" he said. "What do you want?" 

She lay down in the crook of his arm and skimmed her hand down his stomach, drawing a tremor from him. "Just let me have you." 

She kissed him a hundred different ways, deep and shallow, tasting and teasing, lingering over the thin white scar on his lip, nipping at the lower with her teeth. And all the while she played lightly at the head of his cock with her fingers. Occasionally she stroked him fully with her hand just long enough to make him pant for air and curve his arm tight around her waist.

He grew desperate in starts, chasing her kisses, hips pushing into her hand. She released him in an instant and Cullen whimpered, a gutted, hurt sound, and opened his eyes.

Evelyn stroked soothingly across his stomach, hip to hip. "It's nothing you've done wrong. You're gorgeous like this and I don't want to stop, that's all." 

Without the tension of her teasing him Cullen melted into the bed under her. Whatever her concerns, he'd been right to press for this. It was a tender thing, easily hurt if she were careless, but it was something she hadn't even known was missing, an elemental connection that was impossible until both of them knew their parts openly, to give and take, serve and receive. 

That awareness of responsibility was what made her push away the thought of bringing him to the same edge a second time and again, hours spent pushing him to that brink over and over—how long before he couldn't bear it, how many times would it take him to cry. Control meant over herself as well, and this was a time to reassure, not to test. 

Standing beside the bed to undress was a strangely _in_ vulnerable feeling, though Cullen watched her openly, even avidly. Despite the muscle at the cut of his hip flexing in an instinctive quest for contact his hands were still thrown out loose on the bed beside him, waiting for her word no matter how his body ached for release. 

"Sit up?" 

Cullen pushed himself up on his hands, frowning as she knelt astride his lap. 

"I want to kiss you," she explained. It didn't matter that she was untouched, she'd become aroused enough by teasing Cullen for so long that when she took his cock in her hand and held it just so he slid into her easily. Cullen groaned, his arms coming around her, and she could feel the flex in his thighs, seating him even deeper. 

Evelyn nearly purred. "Oh, I should take you like this more often," she whispered against his parted lips. "Holding me up, filling me so well. Under me where you belong." She'd never been so crass with other lovers. It was as though the strength he laid at her feet became hers to stand taller on, to speak more boldly. _She_ was his armor like this, the shield that stood between him and the world. That was when she began to really move, rolling her hips for the most pressure right where she wanted it. Sweat slicked up between them. Cullen kissed her collarbone and between her breasts, and when he could no longer he pressed his cheek there gratefully. 

Evelyn bent her head low to kiss his hair, murmuring in his ear, "Getting close again?"

"Yes," he breathed. 

"Yes, what?" she said, coaxing. "What was it you called me?" 

" _Evelyn_ ," pleaded Cullen.

"Look at me. Yes, _what_?" With steel this time. 

"Milady, stop. You must stop. I can't—"

The sound of him asking _not_ to come for her sake grabbed that same traitorous, trembling part of her that longed to bring him to tears. "Shh, I know. It's all right," she said, before the temptation to deny him could grow. This was how mages fell to possession, she was sure of it, with sweet trusting faces begging to please them. 

She allowed him to bury himself in her neck, panting hotly against her skin, hands curved around the tops of her shoulders. He was almost silent when the moment came, holding them together so tightly she nearly saw stars. Evelyn reveled in it, and in stroking her hands down his back afterwards while he mouthed aimlessly at her collarbone.

She lifted herself off of him with a hiss and rolled onto her back with legs shaking too much to hold herself, and pulled him down with her to keep kissing him. He made a half-formed noise against her lips as if he wanted to speak then thought better of it. 

"What is it?" She searched his face any sign that she'd gone too far. Holding too much weight wasn't the only way a man could break. 

For a moment he looked fretful, frustrated by his inability to say what he wanted, and then he smiled—while small and abashed, still enough to soothe her fears—and dragged himself down the bed. 

Settled on his belly between her legs, he dropped lavish, hungry kisses along the inside of her slick thighs, heedless of the fact that he'd just spent inside her—or drawn by it, perhaps the very reason for his embarrassment. His desire was clear whatever the cause, and it was so very Cullen: ever a man of action, but waiting for her word to act.

"Would you like to make me come, Cullen?" He nodded, and she tugged a little at his hair. "What was that?" 

"Yes—" His breath fluttered against her skin on a shaky exhale. "Yes, milady."

Evelyn hummed in satisfaction, combing her hand through the damp silk of his curls. "Never be ashamed of that. Your service is honorable."

Cullen closed his eyes and made a sweet, choked sound against her thigh, almost a sob. "Thank you, milady," he said with no hesitation, and that was even sweeter.  
"Should I ask what you're thinking about?" she said, although she wasn't sure he was even awake. Cullen was still between her legs, resting his head low on her belly while she petted his head. Quite a habit she was picking up there. 

"All the things that had to happen to bring us here," Cullen said, a little gravelly. Not sleeping then, but lost in thought. "What if the Conclave had never happened. How different things could be if the Inquisition never existed." 

"Our circumstances would change, but would we be so different if we met?" It hurt a little to say.

"That's just it," Cullen said, and to her surprise dragged his head up to see her. He looked exhausted, bruised around the eyes, but calm. "A different time, another life, Inquisitor or not, _Templar_ or not. I don't think it would change anything." He turned to press a lush kiss to the knob of her wrist, the closest skin he could reach. "I took my armor off because I'm safe without it here. Not at the Herald's request." 

"I'm glad," she said with a hitch in her breath. His words made her heart clench greedily, tingled up her spine like aftershocks of her earlier pleasure. She struggled to keep steady under him in defiance of that shivery feeling of power. However easily he spoke here in the dark she wasn't fool enough to think those words would come so easily in the light of day. Not yet. 

She could be grateful, at least, that he seemed peaceful for now, the bronze sweep of his lashes resting on his cheeks as he lay his head back down.

 _Stronger when you hold him,_ Cole once said, though she'd never quite pieced together if he'd meant her or Cullen.

Perhaps it was both.  


* * *

_. . .months later_

Few things had come to be more dear to Evelyn than seeing the portcullis at Skyhold raised after a hard ride. Worry knotted in her stomach as they crossed the the great stone bridge and it was plain there was some hullaballoo happening at the inner gate—no sounds of battle or alarm from the outer guards, so nothing dire, but hardly the welcome home she'd hoped for. 

Cullen and Josephine were standing like two great sturdy rocks in a babbling stream of perhaps two dozen people, all of them tall, dark, and underdressed for the weather, all of them loud. 

_"Oh no,"_ said Cassandra. 

Evelyn dismounted and passed her reins over to one of the stablehands who'd roused to meet them, and marched right up behind Cullen, who was arguing with one of the group, 

"I beg your pardon, but could someone please explain why I'm being ambushed in my own courtyard?"

"Inquisitor," said Josephine, sounding relieved. "We didn't expect you. And as you can see, the Nevarran delegation due to arrive next week has given Skyhold the similar yet much smaller blessing of arriving a bit more than two days early," Josephine said. She gestured to the man who'd been arguing with Cullen, one who particularly embodied all of their common traits, down to his very fine, no doubt very thin silk tabard bearing the grim Nevarran crest. "Allow me to introduce Ambassador Tyraeus Messina."

"Most beneficent Lady Herald," said the ambassador and, oh, he was _that_ type. "These Venatori sympathizers coming out of Tevinter are—"

"Are of course a grave concern, and we will discuss what aid the Inquisition can offer tomorrow," Evelyn said. He made to speak again, and she held up her hand to forestall him. Her _left_ hand. She'd found there was no better way to make a point. " _Tomorrow_ , Ambassador. You're lucky I returned early because of the storms or you'd be cooling your heels for even longer."

"Inquisitor!" Josephine said, this time with the particular tone Evelyn had come to know as her _please don't cause a diplomatic incident_ voice. "The guest accommodations were not due to be prepared for days, and I am making all the necessary arrangements even as we speak. The courtyard will be vacated as soon as we are able."

"Thank you, Josephine. You're a treasure." And with that she strode across the yard, Cullen at her side like a gleaming, oversized shadow. "Show up a week early and expect me to—did they give any kind of notice?"

"I'd be surprised if they tried," said Cullen, "but if they did it certainly didn't arrive." 

"We have got to do something about this. I sent word a week ago that we'd be back early, too. You should've had it well before now." With Leliana swept away as the newly ordained Divine reorganizing their intelligence-gathering was a constant struggle, and there were frequent hiccups in communications.

"I agree entirely, milady." 

Evelyn nearly whipped her head over looking at him. "Is that so?"

Cullen coughed and conspicuously did not look back. "Yes. I think finding a firm replacement for Leliana should be a top priority." Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. 

"I see," Evelyn said, mindful of the sentry at the side door. "Well, if you'd like we can discuss it further as soon as I've given these to Dagna and seen to a few things. Say, my desk, half an hour?"

"I—with pleasure, as always, Inquisitor."

Most of the Inquisition would probably guess she had a desk. Few knew it was in her private quarters. No one but Cullen knew of the times she kicked her feet up on it and watched him undress, or he would build a roaring fire and sit on the floor beside her chair so she could pet his hair while they both read before bed. 

She had a lot of fond memories of that desk. 

"As you were then, commander."

Cullen's smile was wry. "That's difficult to imagine, milady." Evelyn gave the guest quarters a wide berth, checked in with Cassandra in the training yard—the dummies would need heavy repairs by the time the Nevarrans were gone—and skirted the great hall as little as possible on her way up from the Undercroft. Her arousal was a palpable thing, a heavy hopeful throb between her thighs while she made her way through the gauntlet of the keep. Even with her carefully chosen route she was stopped nigh on half a dozen times. Cullen was waiting in her room when she got to the top of the stairs.

"Sorry about that. I got waylaid."

Cullen already held his gloves, worrying them with his thumb. "Would you be offended if I said I expected it?" 

She plucked them from his hand to lay them on the sidetable. "Can't fault you for being realistic. Now then," she said, leaning her weight back against the arm of the sofa. "Was there something you needed?"

"Just a few moments' peace." Cullen brushed a lock of dark hair back from her face. "And," he admitted, a little wry, "I thought you could use a preemptive break from our guests." 

He made quick work of opening her trousers enough to get his hand into her small clothes; this was not the first time a few moments of peace had become a few moments of furtive pleasure and wouldn't be the last. She grabbed the crook of his arm, the closest thing she could feel to flesh amid all that steel.

"Oh," Cullen breathed when his fingers slid easily along her slit, "you're—" He swayed towards her like he was pulled in on a string.

"Your fault, saying things like that when I can't have you right then and there." Damn her voice trembling. 

Cullen's smile curved against her ear. "Consider me duly chastised," he said, and slid two fingers deep into her without warning.

Evelyn laughed, arching into him at the electric not-quite-burn. "Not hardly, you cheeky little shit." Shock and delight rippled through her together and she gripped the arm of the sofa beside her with her free hand. She could breathe him in he was so close, his heat and the heady animal, leather scent of him, and she scraped her teeth playfully on his jaw. 

It was only those small points of warmth exposed, the taste of his skin and his hand buried in the heat of her and it was still almost too much in a matter of moments, something more than her body could contain. Her feet scrabbled on the floor as she lost herself in his blunt thumb teasing her clit. Cullen wrapped his arm around her to hold her up. Even through her clothes the hard press of cold metal against her back was a welcome bite, enough to drive her closer. She was whining a little high in her throat, and grabbing him hard, chasing that heat. Cullen cinched his arm tighter around her and fucked her harder, kissing away the plaintive cry she made as she came. 

She sagged against his arm, dazed, and gave a last little gasp when he withdrew his hand from her oversensitive flesh. As she came back to full awareness she flexed her hand, wincing, and not only for herself. If she ached he must too. "Sorry."

"It's worth it," said Cullen. "More than that. Whatever you need." And then she watched him very deliberately suck the two fingers he'd had inside of her into his mouth to lick them clean. Duly chastised her blessed ass. 

"Make it last," she said. "It's all you're getting until tonight." If he was going to stand there and say _whatever you need_ and put a target she desperately wanted on his own back, it seemed rude not to accept.

If he could Cullen would've choked on his hand. He buried his face in her hair as he chuckled. "Oh, you are too cruel."

"You've suffered worse than a little delayed gratification," she said lightly. "You can endure this for me."

"Yes, milady." Cullen said it on a sigh, not of exasperation, but the sort you made when you took your boots off after a long march or slid into a hot bath, a sound like coming home. 

"Oh," she added as he straightened, "and I do mean _all_. No sneaking off like a naughty choir boy for a private moment."

"I swear you forbid things solely to put the idea of them in my head," Cullen said, staring very intently at his gloves as he pulled them on.

"What good are restraints without the temptation to test them?"

Cullen cleared his throat. Red was blooming in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "Supper tonight? Your quarters?"

"Better make it yours. Andraste help me, I promised Josephine I'd meet with her for an early breakfast to go over the outstanding social invitations before we meet with the Nevarrans, and I suspect you won't much like dragging yourself up at that hour by the time I'm through with you." For all that she loved how much he'd settled into his desire to yield to her, it was nice to know she could still eke a few nerves out of him on occasion. "You're looking a little flushed, commander. Are you feeling all right? Would you like a cold cloth?"

"I can't say it would do much," he said ruefully. Then, quieter, "I should go. The western patrols will be reporting in at any time."

She looked up at him. Tall and broad, armor polished and gaze forthright, he was the very picture of the noble commander, the sword of the Inquisition. Even the faint tinge of pink in his pale skin could've been the bite of the mountain winds.

And he would leave completely hers, the taste of her on his lips.

"Ugh, please, yes," she said, waving at him. "Leave. Go before I change my mind and won't let you."

Laughing, Cullen caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "Whatever you like."


End file.
